Wished on a Moon for Someone Like You
by JackTheRiPper
Summary: It was never supposed to be a love story. I wish it had been. Death fic...


Wished on a Moon for Someone like You

Rated: PG-13 for suicide content

Disclaimer: I use this story for many different fandoms, so I do not own the characters that are applied to this piece of writing, it is just a fans fantasy, and I make no profit from it, though if pleasure is a profit well then...but I doubt that. The fandoms I use this piece in are Harry Potter, either Harry Potters suicide or Draco Malfoys. And in Btvs(willows suicide). I'm sure other things would fit, but I have no patience or memory to find out. HP property of JKR, and BTVS property of Mutant Enemy and the other guy and etc, etc, blah blah blah, you get it right?. I'm broke, don't sue!

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It was never supposed to be a love story. Sure the moon was out, a full, blazing silver moon, out in a sea of stars, but that wasn't love. And your eyes sparkled with sweet tears that you would never dare to shed. And your hair made you an angel with a halo of silk rimmed around those eyes.

Yet it still wasn't love.

The grass was green, the sky a black velvet, a universe of nothing. And the water, the water was blue, but you changed that, you made it blacken, you made it bleed, and you made it crimson with your hate, because it wasn't love.

It was never supposed to be love.

Your skin was pale, your cheeks tinged with a flush of delight, of yearning and longing. And I mirrored you, but the flush on my face was for different reasons. It was embarrassment, at being found, being lost, and even I thought it was love.

But it was never love.

I stared at you, but you found my eyes of no interest, I was never in your interest, a mere convenience, nothing more. You'd leave me in a second, and I'd wish that I could be with you, in love, for a second. But love doesn't exist.

Because love is just a fantasy.

And your hate my reality. You hate me, I know you do. You tell me, over and over, until I bleed for you, and then you bleed too. I'm a sacrifice in all this, a virgin sacrifice for you, you who is a god among your servants of man. And we will all bleed for you.

But never in love.

I stand with you, some would say, at a turning point fate never thought could exist. I stand with you, because I cannot stand alone. And alone is without you, but then your never alone, somehow, I do not pity you, because you are utterly alone, with crowds of fans, and admirers, and enemies constantly by your side. But not now, now you have me, and the moon and the stars, and the green, emerald grass all around you. With your crimson sea before you.

Alone without love.

Because you think, love is not real, because you've never felt love. And I envy you, because you haven't felt the stabbing shards of broken daggers in your breast. Because your beloved didn't love you back. Because I envy you, that you are alone without love, and I with you without yours.

This was never a love story.

Not even when I died with you, for you, so that maybe I wouldn't be alone without my beloved, you. When you stepped into the water and the moon lit up your skin, and the scars glowed beneath that moon and I could finally see why you are without love. And I followed you, stepping into the water, following you.

Because only I loved you.

Your skin dripping blood down your arms, through your fingers, into the water, into this crimson sea. And I thought that I'd join you completely, but no. I must save my fallen angel.

Because I loved you.

You kept walking into the darkness, until you were nearly consumed by it. Then I moved towards you, and then you disappeared.

I like to think, because you loved me too.

I searched the water, but I could not see your blood too dark and too thick beneath the moon to let me find my fallen angel. And later when they found me, in the morning after looking for me, not you. I was frozen with hate for them, and you, frozen from the cold, from the blood that dripped from my hair, frozen in shock, because I loved you.

And I like to think, because you loved me too.

But they never found you, but sometimes I can here the melody of the wind and water singing to me. About how you loved me too, and how I loved you, on a sea of crimson, not blue.

But you died, then I died.

But I like to think that you loved me too.

Because I dreamed of someone like you, to follow me into death, like I followed you. But then again you weren't real, and I almost followed you. When no one followed me, the first time, and the last.

Because I like to think, that I didn't die that day, following a ghost of a dream, out onto that water, with blood dripping down my arms, and I like to think, that it wasn't me that died that night, but only you. But I died because I loved you, and you never loved me back.

Because I still here the shrill cries of the wind on water, where I wait for you. As an image of white flesh, a ghost bound to you. Waiting where I died. Because maybe someday, you'll love me too.

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*fin*

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End file.
